The Muse
by cassandracrisscolfer
Summary: Kurt takes up painting after Blaine gets brain cancer and the thinking skills of a young child. How will their marriage last when Blaine is basically a young child and has to start over? Will Kurt and Blaine keep holding on? Suck at summaries. Please try


Author Note: Kay, this just really randomly popped into my head. I don't know how far it will go. If you guys want me to go on with this, just tell me. :) It may just be a two-shot with long chapters, but if you guys want it multi-chaptered that is totally fine by me! The hiatus is almost over! Yay! I apologize if this sucks. I in fact, do not have a Beta.

…

The colors were aligned skillfully on the canvas, the artist having beautifully manipulated strokes with the brush. The colors blended well, making some of the monochromatic essence of the painting light up the room in a way that no one could fully understand or explain.

Not one spot of the white canvas below the array of paints was shown, not one stray bristle from the brush plastered and stuck underneath the drying oils. Everything about the painting was so lividly beautiful and crafted. But no one understood the story behind it.

Painted on it was a man. A man standing on a lone path with his back towards the critic's eye. He wore a tan jacket, and had spiraling curls atop his head. He was a short fellow. The weather looked stormy, and the clouds that seemed like they were rolling in were an abundant gray, yet no sign of flicked on raindrops descended onto the person below.

He was alone. No one could see his face, but if they were, they'd probably see no emotion. Apparently that was how the artist felt when he painted it. No emotion. It apparently disappointed people, not knowing what emotion the tiny man in the painting must be feeling. Many critics and college students studying art and just curious people came and sat for many hours, staring at the swirls of paint, not understanding. Never understanding.

Many people stepped further into the study, and tried to locate the artist, because no one knew who this person was. The painting titled "Long Storm, Long Path, Lonely," was apparently nameless, in the sense of the author.

Though the painting hung on the wall at one of the most popular art museums in New York, people still wanted to know how it became so popular. No one really got the meaning of the little man and the storm, but that didn't stop anyone from misunderstanding the Mona Lisa either.

Only the artist knew what it meant. Only the artist knew who the artist was. Only the artist knew who the man on the path was. And the artist was Kurt Hummel-Anderson.

Kurt didn't sign his name on the painting. He knew people would pester him, mob him with questions he didn't want to answer. The man in the painting was his husband Blaine, who had long since received cancer in his brain.

Blaine survived the cancer, but that didn't stop him from having brain damage and becoming slightly mute, then developing the thinking skills of a young child. Blaine put all his emotions towards music, towards the only thing he could still do after he lost a lot of memory.

They had gotten married long before Blaine had gotten cancer. In fact, they got married a month after graduation, in New York where it was legal. Kurt always smiled when he looked at their wedding photo, and one night while Blaine had fallen asleep at the table doing a puzzle to strengthen his thinking, Kurt looked to it and cried.

Kurt gave up on his Broadway dreams. He needed a job that would keep him at home around Blaine, and so he took up painting.

"Rain," said Blaine one night, sitting on the bay window seat ledge as he watched his husband paint. He looked at Kurt with a big smile, and tapped his finger against the rain splattered glass.

Kurt had looked at him and smiled softly. "Yes, Blaine, rain. Good job, honey. You are so smart." Blaine gave him a cute little smile.

"I like rain, Kurt," Blaine had said, as he averted his hazel eyes back to look out the window, hugging his knees to his chest.

"That's wonderful, sweetheart," said Kurt sincerely. Blaine, the strong person just a few months ago, was now awed over rain. It broke Kurt's heart to see his husband like this, but he loved him nonetheless.

"Do you ever wonder if the sky is crying, Kurt?" asked Blaine, looking over to his husband. "If the sky is crying, I feel bad, Kurt. I want the sky to be happy. Sometimes I feel like the sky, crying."

Kurt tried to hold back tears at Blaine's statement. "The sky can cry, angel. When the sky is happy, the sun comes out. But today I guess something really upset the sky."

"Maybe the ground said something and hurt its feelings," said Blaine. "That isn't very nice."

"You're right, love. Apparently the ground wasn't being very nice to the sky," Kurt had replied as he painted.

"I want to be happy, Kurt," said Blaine so softly. Kurt stopped his brush strokes and looked at Blaine, who was still looking out the window at the rain.

"You're not happy?" asked Kurt. Blaine sighed and a few tears escaped his eyes. "Well, you make me happy. That's all that makes me happy now, Kurt. My eyes are raining."

Kurt knew better than to go over and cuddle Blaine into his arms. He used to do it, but after Blaine had his cancer, Blaine had told him not to do it anymore because it would make him feel more like a little boy, because he knew his thinking was bad.

"Don't be sad, love," said Kurt, on the verge of tears himself. "I promise everything will get better, that you will be happy."

"Pinky promise?" Blaine looked to Kurt hopefully and held up his hand, his pinky outstretched. Kurt got up and smiled and linked his pinky with Blaine's and squeezed.

"Pinky promise."

…

Kurt had tucked Blaine in to bed that night, and sang him a lullaby. "I love you, Kurt," Blaine had said.

"I will be coming to bed shortly, honey. Come get me if you have nightmares. I love you, too." Kurt kissed his forehead.

There were so many nights like this that Kurt could remember, would always remember. It was times like those that he would cherish with his children, if they ever decided to have any. Now, though, that possibility seemed unlikely. Blaine was basically a child, but Kurt was fine with that because in honest truth, things could have gone worse. Blaine could have lost his battle.

Kurt knew his husband was a fighter, but when Blaine sat at the kitchen table and stared intently at a puzzle or a small chart of words crying, "This is too hard Kurt! My brain hurts! I can't…I can't," it pained him to watch.

Kurt had handed Blaine a box of crayons and some paper, and let him take a break to draw. Kurt's studio was full of little pictures Blaine drew him. Blaine didn't draw like a young child, he actually drew very well.

"I drew a picture of me, see," said Blaine as he showed his picture to Kurt. "I am on a path walking. I drew the sad clouds I see when the sky cries. I named it 'Long Storm, Long Path, Lonely."

Kurt smiled and wrapped his arm around Blaine's waste and admired the little picture in Blaine's hand. "I love you so much, B. This is wonderful." He kissed the top of Blaine's curls and took the picture from Blaine and set it down.

Kurt turned and wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck and buried his nose into it and kissed the skin there. Blaine hummed and whispered, "I love you so much, Kurt."

Kurt didn't notice the tears that fell from his eyes, leaving little trails on his cheeks and stains on Blaine's shirt.

"Why are you crying?" Blaine gently guided Kurt's eyes to look into his. "Please don't cry. You make me sad when you cry, Kurt. I don't like being sad."

Kurt choked back a sob. "Honey…do you remember…in high school…when I told you that I'd never say goodbye to you?"

Blaine nodded. "I knew that you would leave me, Kurt. Everything is my fault because I got cancer. I'm holding you back," said Blaine sadly.

"No, no, no, no, honey! That is not what I meant! I mean to say that I'm keeping that promise. I love you, Blaine." Blaine visibly relaxed.

"I love you, too."

…

Kurt would sometimes wish for his old Blaine back. It sounded heartless and selfish, and he knew it. He missed the Blaine that didn't have to go to therapies or the Blaine that would burst out Top 40.

Kurt was content with the Blaine he had. He was still his husband, his Blaine, his love, his everything. But that still didn't stop Kurt from wishing that he had the cancer instead of Blaine. He would rather have had himself think like a little child, rather than Blaine.

Kurt remembered when the doctor had announced to Blaine for the first time about his cancer. He was crushed. Not only did he cry for many hours, but he became destructive. He had broken things and then realizing what he had done, he clung on to Kurt, sobbing his apologies.

Kurt knew it wasn't Blaine's fault he was destructive. In fact, in high school, Blaine had always seemed to take his anger or sadness out on a punching back, admitting to Kurt he had taken up boxing a short time after the incident with Sadie Hawkins.

It just seemed as though everything crashed on that very day, though. "I'm sorry to inform you, Mr. Hummel-Anderson, but…we have found a large tumor in your husband's brain. It is your choice if you want him to undergo surgery. I would suggest the surgery, but sometimes it is too much for someone to handle. It just depends on the person." That statement made the world crumble.

So now, here they were, Blaine having beat off the cancer by himself. Looking at the crayon picture Blaine had drawn struck something in Kurt. There had to be a reason Blaine drew it. Blaine almost always had a reason for everything he did.

"I'm lonely, Kurt. When you are gone, I am lonely. The only reason I fight is because I told you when we got married I'll always be there for you. I don't like 'death due us part,' Kurt."

In all that Blaine had said in the past few months of surviving his cancer, that statement brought Kurt to his knees and sobbed while Blaine was fast asleep. The fact that the statement had sounded so much like the old Blaine scared him, because the old Blaine was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

…

Kurt watched as his husband got into his pajamas and went to bed singing softly as he went, "Come on get happy." That made Kurt smile.

As soon as he heard the click of the door shutting, Kurt took out a large canvas and his oils paints, and carefully poured himself some turpentine into a baby jar.

Kurt pinned Blaine's crayon drawing on the corner of his canvas where he could use it for reference. He started to sing.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

I hope you know how much that I love you

Please don't take that sunshine away

His humming descended into soft hums as he tried to be quiet in fear of waking his slumbering love. It was peaceful, dare he say while Blaine was asleep. Kurt was always quite content when Blaine was awake, but sometimes Blaine would cry or just scream in pain.

Blaine nearly almost always refused to take his pain medication. When he was severely ill in the hospital, he wouldn't take the medicine, because he knew t would make him fall asleep. He had told the doctors and Kurt, "I will not take that medicine. I want to stay awake with Kurt, and I want to be able to wake up from my sleep."

Kurt knew what he meant was: "If this is my last chance to see my husband, I will stay awake and be in pain so I can see his face and talk to him and love him because if I take the pills, I may not wake up."

While Kurt painted he had all these forsaken memories. Like when he and Blaine had fought. It was the worst fight they had ever had.

"I KNOW I PULL YOU DOWN, SO JUST LEAVE ME!" Blaine had shouted as he got in Kurt's face. Kurt was too stubborn to back done, and he wanted the last word in.

"Stop this shit, Blaine! I LOVE YOU! And yeah, your damage does affect me because sometimes you freakin' act like a five year old! I can't leave you alone for one second! I NEED FREEDOM, TOO, BLAINE."

Blaine had stopped and his face fell, mouth gape, eyes clouded over with tears. "Do you honestly think I want to be this way? DO YOU! NO. And maybe I want to be around you every freakin' second because IT MAY JUST BE MY LAST ONE WITH YOU!"

Blaine had then taken off his wedding ring and slammed it on the table and stormed off to their bedroom. Kurt knew better than to go after him. Kurt looked at the ring and didn't hesitate to start sobbing, and he slipped Blaine's wedding ring on the same finger as his.

He had slept on the couch that night.

Everything was coming back to Kurt as he slipped, spilled, stroked, and dabbed his oils on the canvas, and he cried as he did so. He was painting this for Blaine, to make him happy, and all that it was doing to Kurt was making him cry.

Kurt remembered when Blaine came home from his therapy one day and showed Kurt the little page of a worksheet they had done. They would do things on different topics each time, and that week's had been Love.

"Look, Kurt," said Blaine happily, showing Kurt the paper. Kurt read it.

What is Love: Kurt

Why is this LOVE?: Because it's Kurt

What does this mean to you?: My everything

Kurt smiled as he finished his painting. It was beautiful and he was happy to admit it.

…

To this day, if you asked Kurt Hummel-Anderson, "Do you know who made this painting?" Kurt would smile and say, "No, but I do know someone special inspired it."

Blaine and Kurt were standing in the museum, looking at Kurt's painting, the other viewers around it looking in awe, not even knowing the artist and the man in the painting were right before them.

"Promise me something, Kurt," said Blaine, wrapping his arm around his husband's waist.

"Yes, love?" replied Kurt, smiling.

"Promise me you'll never tell anyone you painted this. The public will take you away from me," said Blaine.

"I promise," said Kurt sincerely.

"Pinky promise?" Blaine had held up his outstretched pinky to Kurt.

Kurt had smiled and linked his pinky with Blaine's and squeezed.

"Pinky promise."

…

Author Note: Continue? Review? I hope you guys liked it. :)


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